


Intercepting an All-Out War For Fun and Profits

by bobadeluxe



Category: Fortnite (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Explicit Language, Gen, Headcanon, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pseudoscience, Rating May Change, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobadeluxe/pseuds/bobadeluxe
Summary: The grapevine is ripe with lucrative business opportunitites! So many possibilities, just think about it. How much would your clients pay for what is, essentially, a key to mortality?Now you just have to get your hands on it, Sig.(Or, the one where Sig travels to the Island for his own agenda but instead gets caught up in the fight between A.L.T.E.R and E.G.O.)
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I was going to post it when it's completed but, I'm neck deep in work and I don't know when I will finish it. So I might as well just post it now lol.
> 
> Trying to stick closer to canon this time around, as opposed to my usual 'Fuck around and see what happens' approach. I'd still be making shit up though cause there ain't enough lore to go on.
> 
> Character tags will be added as they appear, as well as relationship tags and others. I have a pairing in mind, but I don't want to clog the tags before it becomes relevant. 
> 
> Rating WILL change in the future. Hehe.
> 
> Enjoy!

_It was supposed to be just another contract._ One more assignment added to the long list of shady shit Sig has gotten himself involved with since the start of his career. Assassin, informant, spy.. those are some of the words his clients have referred to him by. Sig? He prefers _Master Interceptor_. On papers, it is Intercept Agent. More formal, and less ostentatious. In his line of work, it's considered gauche to be that loud. (He doesn't agree with that attitude, but whatever. _When in Rome_..) You can take pride in your work, certainly! Just gotta keep it on the down low. Can't act like you enjoy it _too_ much, 'cause.. you know, Crimes Bad. If you come across as an unstable asshole, no one's gonna hire ya. Professionalism is key.

Where was he? Right, Intercept Agent. It's got a nice ring to it, and vague enough that he could apply to all sorts of contracts without giving away the specifics of what he does. No one can steal your secret of the trade that way, and your 'unique' skill set will always be in high demand. There's the basic stuff— the definition of it — radios. Sig is _great_ with electronics AND sitting on his ass doing nothing for a long period of time. Got something you want from a transmission coming through the waves? Sig is your guy. You will get the information you seek, aucun problème. Monitoring requires a great deal of patience, which comes natural to Sig because he _loves_ sticking his nose in other people's business. Sometimes, the things you hear by accident end up being more lucrative than what you set out to learn! Like, there was this..

Okay, rewinding a bit. Sig is a freelancer. An unaffiliated one. If it lines up his pockets, he will fuck over anyone you want! No skin off his back. Sig is loyal to no one, and so far he's managed to stay under the radar as the third party interceptor of many— quite frankly— atrocities in the past. Something you need to know? Someone you want dead? Yeah, for the right price, Sig will meddle with just about anything. Doesn't matter what criminal syndicate is involved. All you need to know is Sig will get it done. His rates are high, but his term of agreement is very short. Being a nosey bastard is pretty much a second nature at this point. So why not make a career out of it? 

Anyway, when Sig caught wind of this.. ongoing conflict between two organizations, he didn't think much of it. It's normal, really. Someone is always beefing with someone. Nobody gets along in this business; every man is out for himself. That's why Sig sticks to his own company most of the time. When you try to keep up with it all, who killed who, who betrayed who, etcetera etcetera. They inevitably blend together after a while. E.G.O, A.L.T.E.R, somebody must've been overeager and picked out the words without knowing what they will stand for. And which one came first? Who knows. That's not the important part.

The important part — The bit Sig overheard — is a freighter heading toward the No Man Land's _Apollo_ . That damn thing got weapons out the wazoo! Ammunition, armors, explosives, you name it, this ship cargo's got it all. He assumes it's to aid one of the factions' efforts. Whichever side that gets their hands on this cargo could turn over the tide. The most precious thing on the ship however is this… memory cartridge. A reboot card. Unassuming in every way shape or form, though rumors have it that it's capable of storing one's _consciousness_. Now isn't that intriguing. Living forever? Yes, please. Sig would like that very much. Even if it turns out to be a dud, he knows many clients who would pay an incredible sum to get their hands on this technology. Sig, too, wants to take a crack at it. For novelty's sake if nothing else.

It's decided then. Off we go to Apollo. Bon voyage!

(Sig will come to regret this decision later.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using the current map's codename as the name of the island for now. It gets annoying when you call it The Island™ a lot.
> 
> Also, I thought it'd be fun to try to make sense of the reboot card. Just go with it.


	2. Chapter 2

For a supposedly deserted island, Apollo looks.. well,  _ not _ . There are signs of human habitation, and infrastructure. Asphalt roads paved across the island for miles, steel bridges connecting each section, and.. SoFDeeZ. Nothing says 'touched by civilization' quite like SoFDeeZ. Globalization, huh? 

Sig doesn't think this is the work of E.G.O or A.L.T.E.R. More likely, the locals have been driven off the island, and now they are fighting for the leftovers. It's actually quite easy to identify what was already here, and what was built after the war began. The lovely pet-friendly park near high-rising apartments? Old. The suburban townhouses surrounded by white picket fences? Old. The BIG fortress smack dab in the middle of the Island? Now  _ that _ is new. 

On the first glance, this island may seem empty. Not a single ripple in the too-blue public pools that now look almost like a sheet of glass. Rows upon rows of retail stores and restaurants left open with no customer in sight. If this was your typical deserted island, the silence wouldn't be this eerie. It would be normal, for the only sounds you could hear are from the native wildlife. This... with the empty houses and hotels.. you just can't shake the sense of dread away. Like it's only this quiet because something terrible happened.

It's not truly quiet though, and it's not empty either. If you know where to look, you will find points of interest everywhere, armed henchmen in suits patrolling their routes, and secret entrances hidden in  _ outhouses _ of all things. And If you know where to listen, you will never have a single quiet day on Apollo. These henchmen, why, they are quite the chatterbox! Always yapping about this and that when they think nobody's hearing. Lucky for Sig..

For the past week, Sig has been holed up in SoFDeeZ. Not out of any desire, mind you. Sig has no love in his heart for the abomination that is 'Lil Whip.' It just so happens that SoFDeeZ is located on the pier of Sweaty Sands, a northwestern beach town. It's the perfect vantage point to observe the ocean, and it's in close proximity to multiple POIs. The major one being The Shark. ( _ Who came up with these names _ ? _ )  _ Besides, if he doesn't go outside then he won't see the nightmare fuel that is Lil Whip, so it works out.

Sig tapped into their radio signal on the first day. That was the easy part. He brought his own equipment, and he does this for a living so he didn't expect to run into troubles. The bulk of his job consists of monitoring and filtering. Figuring each transmission out like little puzzles onto themselves, and compile them into the big picture. What system do they use? How do they operate? What do these codes mean? Who the fuck is deadpool? When is the freighter going to arrive so I can leave this goddamn creepy island? You know, the usual.

On the second day, he discovered that the ice cream machine is still in working order. He swore to never touch it.

On the third day, he gave in and enjoyed a few scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

The fourth day he spent shitting himself dry. Goddamnit SoFDeeZ. Never again.

Nothing worth mentioning happened on day five to seven.

So far, not a very productive week. Sig now has more questions than he started out with. He's buried in a pile of notes filled with almost nothing but red question marks. E.G.O? A.L.T.E.R?  The Agency? Shadow? Ghost? He just needed to know about the freighter, the reboot card, and how could he steal it without attracting attention from any side. Sure enough, Sig got himself involved with a conspiracy. The story of his life.

Hopefully the second week would prove to be more fruitful. He doesn’t want to stay on this island longer than he has to.


	3. Chapter 3

On Tuesday, Sig receives a call from the outside world.

Strange. He didn't think anyone could reach him in Apollo. The signal here must be better than he expected. There's something about Apollo.. the ambience, the desolate nature of it, that tricked Sig into feeling like he's cut off from the rest of the world. Technically, that isn't wrong, but he is grateful to get this literal waking call nonetheless.

Sig leans back into his chair until it's tipped onto two legs. His receiver continues to beep as he takes a second to balance himself. It's _still_ beeping as he puts his feet up on his makeshift station, and finally presses the speaker button with one heel.

"Allô," Sig answers the call.

 _"Sig?"_ Now that is a familiar voice. Deep, almost husky, with a distinct accent of a man whose English isn't his first language. There is too much interference though. He sounds like he's outside; the wind is harsh. It's tough to hear.

"Got it in one." He crosses his arms behind his head. "Go for Sig."

For a second, Sig heard nothing but the rushing wind. Then the man must've gotten inside, because he heard a loud _thud!_ of a sliding door, followed by the background noise disappearing completely. Now his voice is clear as ever, and his identity reveals.

 _"Did you seriously follow that tip to Apollo?"_ Hugo asks, sounding like the disappointed stepfather Sig never had. _"You must be out of your mind."_

"Just a little," Sig chuckles.

_"Don't be stupid."_

"I'm not! I would never," Sig gasp, offended. "Look, from what you've seen in our line of work, could you honestly say that you don't believe — even a teeny-tiny bit — that this reboot card is real?"

 _"I'm not saying it isn't,"_ Hugo says with a sigh. _"I've heard anecdotes from reputable sources who have seen it in action."_

 _"Vraiment?"_ That got Sig's attention. He puts his feet down and sits right back up again. All four leg chairs on the floor, so you know it's serious. He reaches out for pens and papers amongst the clutter of wires. "Do tell."

Sig could almost hear him frown. _"I am not calling you about the reboot card."_

He kinda did, though. "Oh, come on. Help a fella out, will ya?"

A moment of silence, then, a grimace. _"Fine. What do you know about it?"_

"Heard it could turn your consciousness into ones and zeroes," Sig sums it up. "That it could revive you even after you are brain dead. Revive. Restore? Semantic."

 _"Yes, well,"_ Hugo hesitates. " _I would say reboot. The memory card is surgically implanted into your brain to monitor it's electrical activities. Did you say ones and zeroes?"_

Right, reboot, it must be called that for a reason. Sig scribbles it down. _Card.. In.. Brain.._ "Yeah?"

_"You're not too far off. The brain transmits a sort of code while forming and processing information. This is unique to each memory, and each individual."_

"So, what, the reboot card remembers these codes?"

 _"Yes. It zaps your neurons into firing specific patterns that form your memories. Your consciousness,"_ Hugo takes a pause. _"Grim, isn't it?"_

"Kinda rad, to be honest," Sig admits.

 _"I don't get you."_ Though he sounds amused rather than irritated. Sig has listened to enough transmission that he could tell when the other person is smiling. _"Anyway, supposedly, this could 'reboot' your brain after you died, but it's not perfect. The brain and the body must still be intact for it to work. There is a short time window — around a minute or so — to activate the reboot card. A second later, and your brain is gone for good. Once rebooted, you could not reboot it again for a long time or you risk frying your brain."_

"And I'm gonna guess here that not only it may not work, you may not survive the surgery?"

 _"The brain is a fragile thing,"_ Hugo says. _"Have you seen someone's brain?"_

Sig cringes, "What? Like, personally?"

 _"Make the right cuts and it just.. leaks out."_ Oh christ, he is speaking from personal experience, isn't he? Yikes. _"It doesn't look like anything. It's less than nothing. We associate our being with the brain just as much as we do with the heart, but it's just wet mush."_

"Uh," Sig clears his throat. "Would you get the reboot card implanted into your brain, Hugo?"

 _"No,"_ Hugo decides in an instant. _"If I'm under a constant threat of death, maybe I'd reconsider. As it is, the risk outweighs the reward."_

"You are a hitman. Aren't you _always_ under a constant threat of death?"

 _"No, because I'm good at my job."_ Touché. _"Besides, I have better failsafes than a dubious piece of glorified memory card."_

"Like what?"

_"Like not travelling to a war torn island."_

"It's not that bad!" Sig protests. "Did you really call to be a worrywart? What are you, my dad?"

_"You wished."_

"..What the hell kind of answer is that?"

 _"But no, that isn't why I called you,"_ He speaks over Sig's booing. _"For the record, I think what you are doing is extremely stupid and you're going to get yourslf killed. Though if you are going to stay on that island, you might as well help me out with something."_

Sig groans, "You only call me when you want something."

_"And you never call me at all, so what does that make us?"_

"Fine. What do you want?" Sig asks, before adding, "This isn't going to be free, by the way. Though I'll give you a discount since you've given me valuable information."

 _"Appreciate it,"_ Hugo says. _"I'm looking for a man."_

Sig sighs with longing, "Aren't we all?"

_"Sig."_

"Sorry."

 _"His name is Caleb Mendoza. Call sign, Turk. Five foot seven, brown hair, blue eyes, tanned, and muscular build."_ Sig hears the sounds of shuffling papers, and manila folders. _"He travelled to the island about seven months ago, give or take, around the time Apollo was discovered. He was part of an expedition team, specifically their expert naturalist. None of them came back."_

Sig stares at his notes. "And you think he is still alive?"

 _"Yes."_ There is uncertainty in his voice. _"They are adept at surviving in the wild, and they came equipped with supplies that should've sustained them for months. Unless something happened, Turk and his team should still be alive. Perhaps hiding somewhere from A.L.T.E.R and E.G.O."_

Makes sense. "I'll see what I can do. Why are you looking for this Turk guy, anyway?"

_"That's for me to know, and for you to find out."_

He hangs up.

Sig mulls over his choices. Hugo is a good guy, well, as good as you could get with a contract killer. They're not friends, even acquaintances would be a stretch, but they've known each other for a long time. Pretty much since the beginning of his career. They met during work, where Hugo made an amazing first impression by taking out three men using a butterfly knife. So Sig likes him well enough. He's competent, discreet, and resourceful. Having a guy like that owning you a favor could open many doors for him. Besides, he is going to be here for a while at this rate. The least he could do is keeping an eye out for.. what was his name again? Turk. Turk, turk, turk.

Sig goes over his past recordings and then skims through his notes, but finds nothing that might be related to Turk. Maybe he should switch to other channels, increasing his range from the coast of Apollo to.. where would an expert naturalist be hiding?

After hours of rewiring and adjusting, which took the majority of the day, Sig managed to increase the range of his signal detector. He is able to receive transmission from further away now. Which means he will have to be more diligent, lest he risk missing out important intel because the other miscellaneous shit drowns it out. 

The evening is uneventful.

At night, right at the time when Sig is nodding off to sleep, he gets a transmission.

Picking up the headphones from around his neck, he listens in and tries to get the best audio quality his transmitter is capable of. Wide awake. Once the static dies down, he hears…

Gunshots?

Definitely gunshots. There's a rhythm of purpose and constraint to it. Fireworks wouldn't sound this deliberate, and Sig doesn't think anyone is going to be firing off fireworks on Apollo anyway. The pause to reload, the pause to aim, the number of rounds that are shot each time.. Sig feels confident in his educated guess that it's a submachine gun. He writes it down.

 _"I'm going to get you,"_ the shooter says through gritted teeth, reedy with emotions. Giggles bubble in their throat as they wheeze, out of breath. He could hear their heavy footsteps squish the grass and soil beneath. Must be on the pursuit. _"I'm going to get you, you little fuck!"_

A woman? A girl? Maybe. It's never helpful to assume. People sound different than they are over the radios, and there are those whose voices are the exceptions to the norms. He feels like it's a girl though, or at least someone whom puberty didn't do them any favor. They are giggling out loud now. 

_"Where do you think you're going, huh? Where the fuck do you think you're going? This island is ours!"_

More gunshots.

_"Tell Midas I said hi!"_

Last gunshot, then, complete silence.

Huh.

Well, that was disturbing.


End file.
